


If We Leave Here

by orphan_account



Category: Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-25
Updated: 2015-07-25
Packaged: 2018-04-11 02:23:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4417379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set between the events of DAII and DA: Inquisition. Red Lyrium is a continuing source of disquiet for Garrett Hawke. Action must be taken.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If We Leave Here

**Author's Note:**

> So! This is Fenhawke week (on tumblr), didn't ya know?! So here's my addition. This piece is dedicated to my mate, G. She yet again has created a lovely masterpiece that I was lucky enough to see earlier than its unveiling to the public. I laid eyes upon this beautiful art and had to write a companion piece. It can be found on her blog (dyr0z.tumblr.com). The title is "Blue". Please show her love and support, yeah? And as always, keep the fenhawke going strong. ;)
> 
> {Mentions of death}

 

“ _There is love in holding. And there is love in letting go_.” --Elizabeth Berg, **The Year of Pleasure**

****

  


It was cold now. Winter.

Unprotected toes lost all feeling as they buried into the snow.

“You're gonna freeze to death. C'mon, don't be stubborn.”

“You expect me to take that from someone like you?”

A soft chuckle was lofted into the air as a reward. Much like the moment the smaller of the two men had realized he was far too unmistakably in love to retrace his steps backwards to 'before-them'.

“I'm coming with you.”

“You're not.”

“I am a free man. I may do as I wish. And I wish to come along and stay at your side.”

The taller, more burly man's lips --weathered from harsh climate and wind, pulled into a tired memory of what had previously been a bright smile, “It's exactly why you cannot come, Fenris.”

Elven features screwed together in a dark expression, green eyes searching copper in a desperate attempt to understand. Hawke was a man of resolve and little planning. His years spent with the man in Kirkwall had been evidence of such a thing. Attack first, ask questions later. More often than not, Hawke had been badly battered from such an intense lifestyle. But it had been wild and freeing. And much, much too dangerous.

“You're too clumsy, Hawke.”

Garrett gave a nod, his eyebrows lifting in agreement, “No arguments here. But that can't stop me. It hasn't yet.”

“I've been there to pick up the slack,” Fenris retorted, his tone musing but terse.

“This is something I must do alone. I cannot have you growing sick from exposure.”

The elf frowned, “That is--”

“It's _red_ , Fenris. I remember it in the Deep Roads. It corrupts at a touch, maddens with just a song. I will not let you near them.”

Lyrium-marked fingertips wriggled as he stood and he heard him out. It was a start. If he could merely have Fenris listen, he could have hopes of sparing his lover the agony of red death.

“And you have leads for slavers, do you not?” Garrett scratched at the back of his neck, his heart clenching at the thought. Before long, even this conversation would be distant and fleeting in his memories.

If he was intelligent enough to make a quick deduction, this false Calling was serious. He had to send word to Aveline. To Anders. He had to find the cure. If it was spreading as fast as the rumors painted...

His worried eyes fell upon emerald once more, his throat drying.

...Then it wouldn't be long until the lyrium marred into the elven male's skin took the infection and exploited his body from the inside-out.

Fenris had already broken his chains. Hawke would be damned if he saw the warrior fall to the shackles of red lyrium.

“ _Fenris_.”

Instant. He was lifting his head (proud now, ready to be spoken to as equal instead of an object), eyes shimmering with all the emotions he kept tied tightly behind a sharp tongue and unapproachable movements. His hair was longer now. It fell and prodded at his eyes and the tip of his nose.

Snickering to himself, Garrett gingerly reached forward and moved the white strands from his lover's face. A wrinkled nose and slightly reddened cheeks came as the price.

“I am many things,” Hawke began, his voice chopped and breaking (why was he deteriorating now, why) as he spoke softly to the man he loved so fervently. The mountain wind caught his voice and carried it across the landscape, making it difficult for the elven warrior to decipher his words. “But I am not strong.”

Fenris rolled his eyes, glancing at the overly-sized biceps protected by a winter coat and fur.

Garrett snorted, “Not literally. Maker.”

“Then do be more specific, Hawke.”

“I'm not strong enough to live my life without you in it.”

Silence. Thick and unidentifiable as it wafted between them.

“And so, I think I might be able to stomach being away for a little while if it means I can get all old and wrinkly next to you later in life.”

A soft suck of his teeth as he pondered.

“And I can't get all broken-hipped and forgetful with you if red lyrium takes you from me first.”

He took a step closer, too close. But Fenris didn't mind. If he could pull the ox of a man further to him, he would. But he was afraid. For the first time since their final ordeal in Kirkwall, he was _frightened_.

“They will hunt you, Hawke. They have hunted you since the day you left Kirkwall.”

“I know.”

“You will not have a moment's peace. I know what it is to be on the run. It is not merely living your life and hoping not to be found. It is exile with a price too steep to pay if they catch you.”

“I know.”

“I can't protect you --”

Garrett's forehead pressed against the elf's, his breath mingling in small tufts of warm air amongst winter, “This time, Fenris, I'm protecting _you_.”

Pine. Heavy with sap and condensation. It filled their nostrils and left them hazy.

He was going. Nothing Fenris could say would stop him. He knew it. He could see it written across the human's irises like ink to parchment.

“You will write to me.”

“I will.”

“I can read them now, you know. Your letters.”

Hawke's nose brushed against Fenris', his warm eyes glimmering with emotions far too deep to ever have words to describe, “I know. You've gotten really good. I might have to have you teach me a thing or two before long.”

“You'll have to come back, for that.”

“You can be the sexy instructor.”

“ _Hawke_.”

The Champion nodded, swallowing down a laugh he knew was too forced. He was shit at saying goodbyes. The first time he'd ever said goodbye was on his father's deathbed. Then Bethany's. Then Leandra's. And now...

“You'll come back,” Fenris murmured, his gravely voice commanding.

“Yes, sir.”

Another lapse of utter quiet. It was spent with their eyes searching one another, the tension and gravity of the situation heavy upon their already tired shoulders. This could quite possibly be the end. The last time to see the scars on Hawke's neck from his encounter with the Arishok. The swirling twinges of magic in each brand across Fenris' skin. The softening around the elf's eyes as he said Garrett's name. The way Hawke chewed the inside of his cheek whenever he was truly uncertain. The warmth. Their warmth, shared and recognizable to the other. It would be gone. Perhaps for good this time.

Hungry, Fenris' fingers clawed and buried deep into the fabric of Hawke's coat, the leather squeaking. The red favor faithfully tied around his wrist licked at the air, “...Garrett, you can't--”

 **Die**. The word fell down into the depths of his rattling chest where it belonged. He dare not speak it. To speak the word was to give it a life it didn't deserve. He would return. They would hunt slavers again together. They would share a bed and skin and kisses and heated whispers of pleasure with one another. It wasn't over. This wasn't the end.

Hawke leaned down, arms encircling the warrior eagerly. Before there could be any protests (not that there would have been), his lips were pressing longingly against Fenris' own. Tongue against tongue, warmth and taste so familiar. Holding onto the elf's head, he kissed him further. Deeper, more, **remember me.**

When they were both left breathless and hearts aching sweetly, Garrett sighed thoughtfully, “I should be going...”

Grasping his forearm, Fenris gazed at the man intently, “One more thing.”

_Don't hold so tight. I'll stay. I'll stay. I'll stay. I can't._

The lack of reply was all the continuation Fenris needed. Squeezing the man's large arm, he gave him a parting gift that would keep Hawke far warmer than the furs of his coat.

“Hawke.”

 _ **I love you**_.

“I'm happy to have met you.”

 


End file.
